Downpour
by ConvictionSC
Summary: It's two years since the death of the Origami Killer, yet another series of almost-identical murders are happening in Boston, Massachusetts. Follow Lieutenant Clayton Grant and FBI agent Kimberly Williams as they track down the perpetrator. Is the killer a copycat, or something more?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Well hey there. Considering that this is my first non-Mass Effect fanfiction, I'm not sure if this is going to turn out horrible. Let's hope not. Anyway, do take note that this takes place in a sort of fictional Boston, with regards to the weather, which is kind of the same thing as the developers did with Philadelphia, which Heavy Rain takes place in.**

* * *

**October 10 2013, Thursday. 3.45 pm.**

**Boston Police Department**.

I threw my file on my desk in frustration. It was the third body found in a single month already, yet the case was still at a dead end. I sighed and buried my face in my hands. My eyes opened again to find a mug of coffee sitting right in front of me. I looked up, not surprised to find my partner, Detective Charles Benson, lips slightly curled up in a sympathetic smile. His blonde hair was a mess, as usual, but his brown eyes were somewhat twinkling with amusement.

"Bad day huh?" he asked, walking back towards his desk, which was just opposite of mine.

"If this continues, I'll be having more white hair than an eighty-year-old man." I said, lifting up the mug. I took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of the dark liquid. I slowly took a sip, taking in the warmth of the coffee, which was heavenly, as compared to the cold, biting wind I had endured the whole morning before returning to the office.

"Don't be ridiculous Clayton," he said. "You're only thirty-four."

I set down the mug, and flipped open the file again. "Charles Edwards," I read out. "Born in 2003, reported missing four days ago. Found dead this morning nearby Riverside Railway Station. Orchid in one hand, an origami figure in the other, face covered in mud. Cause of death is drowning. Based on the extent of rigor mortis, the kid was dead for less than seven hours at time of discovery."

"It's exactly the same as the other two," Charles said.

"Thanks you, Captain Obvious," I replied sarcastically. "I've got to catch this sick bastard, Charles. But I just don't know how."

"Maybe I can help," another voice said. It was female, and foreign, too. I turned my head, finding a red-haired woman in a rather expensive-looking suit staring right at me. I found her smile a little _too_ friendly. I arched an eyebrow at her.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners? My name is Kimberly Williams, with the FBI. I've been dispatched by Headquarters to assist you with the drowning cases," she introduced herself. She didn't look like someone capable of combat, judging by her size. She was about five-feet-six, slim built, her long curly hair a fiery red, and eyes a stormy grey. But of course, looks could be deceiving. They most probably were, in her case.

I stretched out a hand. "Lieutenant Clayton Grant, nice to meet you." We shook hands. Then I pointed to Charles. "This is my partner, Detective Charles Benson."

We exchanged another minute of niceties before getting down to business.

"So what's the progress on the case so far?" Williams asked.

"Zero," I said.

"_Excuse me?_ "

"You heard me, _zero._ The killer's as clean as a whistle. The footprints at the crime scene don't match any of our list of known possible suspects. No DNA traces, no fingerprints, no nothing. Even if he did leave any, the rain would've washed everything away."

There was an awkward silence. I'd figured she was probably thinking how lousy of a cop I was.

"Can you take me to the crime scene?" Williams said. "I'd like to take a look."

* * *

I actually kind of liked her - kind of - until we reached the car.

"I'll drive," she said simply.

"_What?_ " I exclaimed, not sure of what I had just heard.

"Give me the keys, " she said again. Her tone was neutral, friendly even, but it still couldn't mask the fact that she was giving me an order.

"No!" I objected. "Why do you want to drive anyway? You don't know your way around here, and it's _my_ car by the way."

She stepped towards me until we were face-to-face. I was taller than her at five-feet-ten, but she somehow felt more intimidating than my nasty English teacher Mrs. Greene in fifth grade. And then, I realised, it was her eyes. Her face showed no signs of malice or whatever, but her eyes were intense. I officially upgraded 'stormy' to 'hurricane-like'.

"You're tired," she said. "A tired driver is a dangerous driver. Today's my first day in Boston, and I'd really hate to have to go back to Washington tomorrow in a body bag."

"I'm not that bad a driver, you'll be perfectly fine," I insisted, but it wasn't very convincing, considering the poorly-suppressed yawn that followed. She smiled smugly at me, arm raised and hand opened. "Fine," I relented, placing the keys on her palm.

I walked over to the other side of the car. The FBI agent was still smiling when I climbed into the shotgun seat. "What's so funny?"

"You're not used to taking orders, are you?" she teased as she started the engine. I glared at her, but it was a half-hearted one because I was yawning again. "Or are you just uncomfortable with losing an argument, especially to somebody you just met?"

I chose to not reply, instead keying in the coordinates of our destination on the GPS.

"The directions are on the screen. Just follow them and you'll be fine. Wake me when we reach." I said simply, the lull of sleep too tempting, and my eyelids too heavy to resist.

As I slowly drifted off, I could hear her softly smirk. "Aye aye, sir."


	2. Chapter 2

**October 10 2013, Thursday. 5.00 pm.**

**Riverside Railway Station.**

Williams woke me up about half an hour later.

"You mumble when you sleep," she said plainly as she switched off the engine.

I didn't reply, mostly because I didn't know how to. I winced slightly as I got out of the car. The wind was exceptionally harsh for some reason. I buried my hands in my coat pockets as we began to walk towards the crime scene.

"The body's gone already, what do you think you can find here?" I asked the FBI agent.

"That's what I'm about to find out, Lieutenant."

She took out a pair of shades from her coat and put them on. But I knew better.

As she began to analyse the environment, I started to say, "You know, you shouldn't use them too often. They're not good for you." She gave me a puzzled look. "I'm talking about ARI."

She stopped what she was doing and walked up to me. "How do you know about ARI?"

"I have a cousin, he used to work for the FBI too."

"What do you mean 'used to'? What's his name?" she asked.

"His name's Norman Jayden. He was assigned to assist the Philadelphia police with the Origami Killer case." I found the last part difficult to say out loud. "He... died while he was working on the case."

"I heard about him too, he got killed while fighting Scott Shelby." I nodded. "I'm so sorry," she said.

"Don't be, he died in the line of duty. I think we've all expected this day to come sooner or later when we signed up for our jobs."

"That's one way to put it, I guess."

My phone suddenly rang. Williams signalled to me that she would explore the place as I accepted the call.

"Clayton Grant," I said.

"It's me, Stacey."

I sighed. Stacey was my ex-wife. We didn't exactly split on amicable terms. Hell, we couldn't even stay civil when we met face-to-face, especially so after she vied with me the custody of our daughter, Samantha. Her calling me was definitely not going to be a good thing.

"What do you want, Stacey?" I asked, rather annoyed.

"I have to go overseas for the next couple of days. I need you to take care of Samantha for the time being while I'm away."

It wasn't a request. There wasn't a question mark. It was a demand. And I hated people who demanded things from me.. Of course, I would love to have more time with my daughter. The longer her mother was away, the better. But of course, how could I pass up the opportunity to make her feel ashamed?

"God fucking damn it, Stacey. You just went on a trip last month with Chris!" Chris was her current husband. "And now you're going off again?! Christ, Stacey! I have a job and a life too, you know! I can't just fly around as and when you want me to! If you're so busy, maybe you shouldn't have fought with me for Sam's custody!"

There was a momentary silence on the other end of the phone. "I'll drop Samantha at your place in two hours," was all she said before cutting the call.

"I swear I'm gonna kill you someday," I muttered in annoyance. I punched in another number on my phone. "Come on, pick up..."

"This is Gwendolyn Grant speaking."

"Hey Gwen, it's me," I said.

"Clay? What's up?" my sister asked.

"Stacey's gonna be out of town, and she'll be dropping Sam at my place in two hours. I've got a major case, so I can't leave. I was thinking if you could help me out."

"Yeah sure, no problem. Leave Sam to me."

"Thanks, Gwen. I owe you one. I gotta go, see you later."

I killed the call and returned to Williams, who was still searching around. Hopefully there wouldn't be any more calls. I've had enough for one day.

"You found anything yet?" I asked.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did." She gestured for me to follow her. "I found some footprints, a size 8."

"Could it have been from one of the officers?"

"Nope, it doesn't match with anyone from the database. Also, I've found traces of orchid pollen leading from the position where the body was found and towards the parking lot, growing fainter along the way..."

"So you're saying our killer simply drove in here with the vic's body and dumped him here, without anyone noticing?" I deduced. I was quite sceptical about the theory, but crazier things have happened.

"Well, there's only one way to find out."


	3. Chapter 3

**October 10 2013, Thursday. 5.15 pm.**

**Riverside Railway Station Carpark.**

I was seriously starting to get pissed off, which was saying a lot, because I would only allow myself to be annoyed ninety-nine percent of the time. Throughout my ten years as a cop, I'd always thought that even the most difficult of people would cave in whenever we flashed our badges and threaten them with charges of obstruction of justice and blah blah blah. But the past five minutes proved me wrong. Because _we_ were now the ones getting restricted by rules.

"We've showed you our badges, God damn it. Now give us that freaking security tape!" I declared.

"I can't do that, Lieutenant," Walters said smugly. "It's against protocol."

I glared at him. Mark Walters was the security guard currently on duty. Williams and I had flashed our badges, requesting for the security tape for today. But dear Walters here pulled the oh-so-convenient 'That's against protocol' card against us. Why? Because Walters was also a complete idiot whom I had previously arrested _thrice_ for physical assault before I joined Homicide.

"I've got to wait for approval from the chief before I can give you the tape," he said. "Rules are rules."

"Gee, Walters. Whatever happened to _'rules are meant to be broken' _?" I said sarcastically.

"I'm a changed man, Lieutenant," he said not-so-convincingly, giving me a cheeky smile as he did so. "I'm on the right side of the law now."

I didn't really care which side of the law he was on. All I knew was that he was getting on _my_ bad side. But I decided to bite my own tongue instead of snipping off his when Williams started to approach him.

"Can you show me your hands?" she asked him, with that too-innocent smile. Normally it would've sent _uh-oh_s through my mind, but I was only too thrilled to see what was going to happen right now.

"What for? Are you going to check for dirt under my nails?" he asked sarcastically. But he complied anyway, probably sensing no danger in doing that. He was so wrong. In a blink of an eye, Williams grabbed his left palm, and used it to twist his arm. She then turned his body in the opposite direction, pressed the twisted arm to his back, and pinned him against the table. "Oww!" he screamed in pain, his voice an octave higher. "What the fuck, man!"

"Would you so kindly tell me where's the tape stashed at, Marco?" I asked gleefully, a big wide smile plastered on my face for the rest of the world to see.

"Before I kick you in the groin," Williams added.

"In the top drawer! Second from the right!" he exclaimed desperately. I took my time strolling to the drawers and slowly took out the tape.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it, Marco boy?" I said. Williams promptly released him, and we left the office, leaving a whining Walters to himself. I gave the FBI agent a thumbs up as we headed back to the car. "That was pretty impressive," I said.

She gave a shrug of her shoulders. "I started taking up Krav Maga this year."

"A-plus, Williams, A-plus!"

* * *

**October 13 2013, Friday. 6.27 pm.**

**Boston Police Department.**

I replayed the video for the hundredth time. I couldn't help but feel that someone was bent on making my life a living Hell. Sure, Williams and I managed to obtain the security cam footage for the car park. And just as I had finally prepped myself for a two-hour long marathon of mindless video-watching, the footage turned out to be so grainy that it might as well be just plain static.

"Why do they even bother?" I muttered to myself.

"Have you found anything yet?" Williams asked.

I sighed. "I would've, if I had fifty different kinds of vision like Superman," I said sarcastically. "On second thought, I don't think Superman can, either."

"You, Lieutenant, are _such_ a ray of sunshine," she said. "Pessimism isn't productive."

"I'm just being realistic, Williams. We're probably better off asking random people on the streets if they know who the killer is, than watch this time-wasting crap."

"Uh, hey, guys. I think I found something," Charles suddenly said. Williams and I moved over to his desk. "So... everyone that goes to the railway station is either picking somebody up or departing, right?"

"Yeah, so?" I asked.

"Well, that means that everyone that enters the carpark leaves with either one more or one less person, right?"

"Can we get to the point please?" I said, irritated.

"Well, I've been looking at the footage, and I've noticed that there's this one guy who entered the carpark alone, and left alone as well, all within thirty minutes."

"Was he carrying a bag?" Williams asked.

"I couldn't see. With the quality of this video, it's a miracle that I was able to notice this," Charles replied. "What I do know, is that this guy came at six in the morning, about one and a half hours before the body was discovered."

"Well, sounds to me that we're going to have to pay a visit to the security guard on duty at that time," I said. "Maybe we'll finally catch this guy after all."

"See, Lieutenant? Being optimistic isn't that hard, is it?" Williams teased.

"I never said I was a pessimist." I checked my watch. It was almost time to leave. Gwen and Sam were waiting for me to have dinner together. "Need a ride, Williams?"

"It's okay, I'll just get a cab."

"Getting a cab in this weather's harder than swimming across the Atlantic Ocean. Trust me. Charles, you coming along?"

The detective's eyes were practically glued to his computer. "Nah, I've got a couple of things to settle. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Alright then, see you," I said. "Which hotel are you staying at?" I asked Williams, as we made our way towards the elevator.

"The Regent," she replied. "Is it out of the way?"

"Nah, don't worry about it," I assured her. Just as the lift arrived, we heard someone running towards us from behind. We turned around to find Bruno, one of the uniformed officers, breathing heavily as he reached us. "What's the matter, Bruno?" I asked. Something in his expression told me I wouldn't like his reply.

"New... case..." he forced out in between breaths. "Missing... kid..."

Without a word, I took out my phone and started typing a message to Gwen as Williams and I walked back to the office.

_So much for dinner._


	4. Chapter 4

**October 10 2013, Thursday. 6.49 pm.**

**Boston Police Department.**

The idea of simply typing a resignation letter and then walking through the front door was getting more and more tempting by the minute. But one look at the man sitting opposite me dissolved all those thoughts away. He was another anxious father desperate to have his child back, just like how I would be if Sam went missing one day.

"Try and remember, Mr. Burton. Think carefully, when did you find him missing?" I asked in a calm, soothing manner. The poor bloke was already fidgeting in his seat, his hair and clothes still damp from searching about in the rain.

Apparently Charles noticed how shaken he was, too. "Do you want a hot drink, Mr. Burton?" he asked kindly. The man shook his head, but Charles went ahead and got him a cup of coffee anyway.

Burton took a small, cautious sip of the steaming beverage, before saying, "I- I don't really know. I was supposed to pick Malcolm up after school today, but I had something on, so I was late. I reached the school about 3 o'clock, I think. But when I arrived his teacher told me that he'd already left. I searched around the neighbourhood, called all his friends, but no one knew where he was." Burton began to panic. "It- it's all my fault, isn't it?!"

"Take it easy, Mr. Burton..." Williams soothed. "Everything's perfectly fine. Maybe Malcolm isn't kidnapped, maybe he just felt like running away for awhile. How are things between you and your wife, Mr. Burton? Were there any arguments, problems, and so on?"

"I lost my job about half a year ago. Things haven't exactly been the same between Maria and I ever since. We would quarrel because of money and things like that..."

"I see... Do you remember what Malcolm was wearing, Mr. Burton?" I questioned.

"Grey pants, I think..." he said uncertainly. "A green shirt and a- a black jacket, yeah, I think that's it." Burton then took on that desperate, slightly crazed tone again. "It's- it's all my fault," he stuttered. "Shouldn't have been late, shouldn't have..."

I was about to reassure him when I saw Bruno walk over, a middle-aged woman following closely behind him. "Hey guys," he greeted. "This is uh, Mrs. Burton."

"Thanks Bruno, we can take it from here," Charles said with a small smile.

The piercing, awkward silence after the officer left was torturous, as husband and wife both started to sob shortly after. None of us knew how to react, but what I _did_ know, was that we weren't going to waste our time watching them cry as their son slowly drown to death in some God forsaken place.

"Thanks for your help, uh, Mr. and Mrs. Burton. Rest assured that our best men are out there searching for your son. We'll contact you once we have any news," I tried to say as confidently as possible. I was struggling to convince myself that perhaps, Malcolm Burton wasn't the next victim of the Origami Killer, and some insensible kid instead, but my gut instinct seemed to say: _You'd wish._

Charles saw them out, and I slumped back down onto my chair as soon as they were out of sight. "All these years, I'd always thought that someday, I would get used to things like these," Williams said.

"That's what makes us human, Williams. We have emotions. Frankly, I'd be more worried if I was numb."

"That's one way of looking at things, I guess," she said. "But seriously, who do you think the killer could be? Scott Shelby is definitely dead, and as far as I know, he doesn't have any living relative that's capable of committing such a crime. His brother died when they were ten, his deadbeat father died shortly after, and his mother's just a sickly old lady lying in bed all day."

"I have no idea too, Williams. Your guess is as good as mine." I sighed, then whipped out my phone, punching in those familiar numbers. "Pepperoni or bacon?" I asked.

"Excuse me?" she said, slightly bewildered, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"I'm asking you, what toppings do you want on your pizza?" I explained. "We're gonna be staying in this office for quite a while, and what we usually do is order pizza, because it's very convenient and time-saving."

"Ah, I see..." she said, enlightened. "I'm vegetarian, so I'll just have mine with mushrooms and peppers."

I ordered the pizzas, with mushrooms and peppers for the FBI agent, and a plain, New York style one for myself and Charles. Once, Gwen jokingly told me that she didn't need to watch or read the news to know about Boston's crime rate. All she needed to do was to just measure my waist line. I guess she wasn't really joking after all.

"Pizzas are on the way," I informed Williams. "Now it's back to work."

* * *

**October 10 2013, Thursday. 10.13 pm.**

**Clayton's Apartment.**

I'd nearly thought that I wouldn't make it back home and would just fall asleep in the hallway instead. I was delightfully wrong. All fatigue was momentarily forgotten when I saw Sam, my wonderful, beautiful little girl, run towards me as I opened the door.

"Daddy!" she said excitedly, while throwing herself against me. "You're home!"

"Of course I'm home, monkey! Where else can I possibly go?" I gave her a bear hug. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be in bed?" I said teasingly, scrunching my eyebrows in mock annoyance. And then Bobby came along, tail wagging. Bobby was our yellow Labrador. And although he was only a puppy, he had the whole neighbourhood -both human and canine- swooning over him. I called him 'Bobby the celebrity dog'. "Hey there, big guy," I said, scruffing his chin.

The puppy rolled on his back, and I rubbed his belly. We moved over to the living room, where I promptly plopped myself on the couch. I yawned and stretched my legs, the day's events starting to take their toll on me again. Sam turned on the television, and the news were playing.

"... A nine-year-old boy by the name of Malcolm Burton was reported missing a few hours ago. The police are currently conducting a large-scale search for the missing child, with Captain Connor Payne promising updates as soon as possible. The police have neither acknowledged nor denied Malcolm Burton to be the newest victim of the Origami killer. Stay tuned for more details."

Sam started to frown all of a sudden. "Is everything alright, monkey?" She turned to look at me with her dark blue, sapphire-like eyes. Her eyes were the only thing that she took after me. She'd inherited her blonde hair and slim build from her mother. They even resembled in character, though I suspected that was more of nurture rather than nature. "Samantha? Are you okay?" I asked, increasingly concerned.

"Malcolm is my classmate, daddy!" Tears started to well up in her eyes. "Is he going to be alright, daddy?"

The news report had clearly indicated that it wasn't confirmed if Malcolm Burton was a victim of the Origami Killer or not, but Sam wasn't any nine-year-old. She was a bright child, able to catch onto underlying meanings quickly, and more often than not, I found myself thinking if she was too smart for her own good.

I carried her over and placed her on top of lap. "He's going to be fine, sweetheart, I promise you, okay?" I soothed.

"He's a nice person, daddy," she sobbed. "He doesn't make fun of us like the other boys."

"I know, monkey, I know," I said gently, wiping off the streaks of tears on her cheeks. "Now you're going to go to bed, okay? You have school tomorrow." She nodded her head, nose still sniffing.

"Daddy..?" my daughter asked softly, as I carried her back to her room.

"Yes, darling?" I replied as I set her down on the bed.

"Can you bring him back safely?"

"Of course, honey. I'm a cop, it's my job. I promise you, I'll bring him back, and we'll all have Thanksgiving together, okay?" I kissed her on the forehead, then made sure that she was tucked snugly under her blanket. "Sweet dreams, monkey."

I softly closed the door after me, then headed straight for the kitchen. I poured myself a large helping of cognac and gulped everything down. The brandy burned wonderfully on the way down my throat.

I was now determined, more so than ever, to save Malcolm Burton's life. Not only because of the promise I had made to my daughter, but also because I knew that if I couldn't save this kid, then I would also be incapable of protecting Sam, much less the whole of Boston as a cop.

_Give me your best shot, Origami Killer. Because I'll have you behind bars in no time._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey guys. Thanks for all the support for Downpour! Updates for Downpour should come quite regularly, due to school only resuming in February (or quite possibly even April) with occasional breaks in between because I have to go help out in my parents' office every once in a while or update my other fics, Apotheosis and Vortex (I've seriously neglected them for far too long).**

* * *

**October 14 2013, Friday. 8.17 am.**

**Boston Police Department.**

Williams was already typing away when I arrived at the office. Charles, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. "Morning, Lieutenant," she greeted.

"Morning to you too," I replied. "Where's Charles?"

"He's gone to pay the security guard at Riverside a visit," she explained, her fingers still flying furiously over the keyboard.

"What are you doing?" I asked, walking towards my desk.

"I'm setting up a profile of our killer," she said as a matter-of-factly, as if it was supposed to be common sense.

"Uh, don't you FBIs use the ARI for that?"

"You're the one that told me not to rely on it too much, Lieutenant," she said. "Do you have the habit of contradicting yourself?"

I struggled to think of a witty comeback, but the need for one vanished when Bruno walked over, this time a woman and a boy behind him. "Hey, guys," he said. "This is Mrs. Jones and her son, Kevin. They said that they could help with the Burton case."

"Thank you, officer. We'll take it from here," Williams said. "Please, take a seat," she gestured to mother and son. After everyone had made themselves comfortable, we got down to business. "You said you and your son could help, Mrs. Jones?" the FBI agent asked.

"Oh yes... Last night, Kevin told me that he saw poor Malcolm walk away with a stranger, so I brought him down here today to see if we could be of any use," the lady explained. "Kevin," she said. "Tell them who you saw."

"It was a man, but he was wearing a hoodie, so I couldn't see his face," the boy said.

"It's okay, Kevin," I said. "Can you tell us how he was physically? Was he tall, short, slim, fat, that sort of thing?"

"He was kinda short, I think," he said uncertainly. "He was pretty skinny too."

"How tall is the man exactly, Kevin?" Williams insisted. She stood up from her seat. "Was he taller or shorter than me?"

"I think his head is around your nose."

The agent sat down again. "Should be around five-feet-four," she whispered to me.

"Did the man show any special characteristics? Does he walk with a limp, or an injured arm, maybe?" she inquired.

Kevin Jones shook his head. "No, I don't think so. But Malcolm seemed to trust him. They even held hands."

Now _that_ was interesting. We continued to ask him questions, but the kid kept shaking his head. I seriously doubted that the boy could give us any more information, so I told Bruno to come see them out.

"Holding hands? That's a first," Williams noted. "Could the man be the boy's relative?"

"Maybe," I said wistfully. "Maybe..."

Almost immediately, Charles entered the office, panting. "Hey guys," he said breathlessly. "I found something."

"What is it?" Williams asked eagerly.

"The guard on duty said that our guy in the video was acting fishy. He didn't know the chap, but he memorised the car's number plate. I traced it, and the owner's name is Matthew Kelly. He lives along Ocean Drive, and he's the deputy managing director of a local conglomerate."

"Sounds like quite a big shot," I noted.

"Who cares? Everyone's equal in the eyes of the law," Williams said surely. "If he's our killer, no way is he getting out of my clutches _that_ easily."

"I think you guys better get going," Charles said. "I'll continue digging for clues in the meanwhile."

"Alright, let's go," Williams said.

The ride to our suspect's office was quite a long one, so I decided to make some small talk. "So what do you think of Boston so far?" I asked.

"Pretty good," she said. "But it'd probably be even better without the rain and the murders. Speaking of which, do you think this guy could be our killer?"

"I hope so," I replied. "That way, there'll be one less dead boy in town, and one more perp brought to justice."

"Do you think we're dealing with a copycat?" Williams asked.

"I don't think so," I said. "This guy's not just some random perverse Shelby fan. He's got intelligence, but he's a lot more impatient. Back in Philadelphia, Scott Shelby would only abduct the next kid at least two days after the victim's body had been found. We only found Charles Edward's body yesterday morning, and Malcolm Burton was already missing by the afternoon."

"Wow, I can't believe you noticed all of this," Williams said, a little surprised. "You don't look like the guy that cares about small details."

"I'm just going to pretend that you told me that I'm very handsome, and take that as a compliment."

She laughed. "Fine by me."

* * *

**October 14 2013, Friday. 10.49 am.**

**Daxton International.**

The building's lobby was filled with men donning Armani suits and carrying their document-filled Hermes briefcases. We got a few not-so-pleasant looks thrown our way as we approached the receptionist.

"Excuse me," Williams said. "We would like to meet your managing director, Mr. Matthew Kelly?"

"Mr. Kelly only meets by appointment," the blonde lady asked unenthusiastically, eyes still fixated on her computer. She briefly tore her eyes away from the screen, placed a notepad and a pen on the counter, then resumed to show us the little attention she had for us. "Write down your name and number. We'll contact you once an appointment has been made," the woman said plainly.

"I'm afraid we can't wait," I said, a little annoyed. I flashed her my badge. "Can we see your boss now?"

"Fine, follow me," she said a little reluctantly. As she led us to Kelly's office, Williams shot me a look that said: _What was that for?_ I gave her nonchalant shrug of my shoulders. Matthew Kelly's office was almost as large as my apartment. The office's marble floor sparkled, with glass cabinets lining one side of its walls, showing off the countless ten-thousand-dollars-per-bottle of very fine wine and spirits. "Mr. Kelly," the receptionist said. "The police are looking for you."

The executive was the exact opposite of Kevin Jones' description. He was at least six-feet-three, with graying hair, and he was really, really buff. The man didn't even look slightly shocked or bewildered in the least bit. Instead, he smiled, as if this was a planned gathering between a couple of old pals. "Please, have a seat," he said, at the same time gesturing for the receptionist to leave.

"I'm Lieutenant Clayton Grant, and this is FBI Agent Kimberly Williams," I introduced. "We'd like to ask you some questions."

"Well, I don't really have a say in this, do I?" he said jovially, for reasons I did not know. "Would you care for some whiskey?" he offered. We shook our heads. He poured himself a glass, then settled back down in his seat. "Please, ask away. I'll do my best to cooperate with you."

"Where were you yesterday at six in the morning yesterday, Mr. Kelly?" Williams questioned.

"I was at home, sleeping."

"Is there anyone that can prove it?"

"I'm afraid not. I live alone," he said, taking a sip of whiskey.

"Are you absolutely certain you were at home sleeping yesterday?" I asked sceptically. Kelly had a good poker face, but his body language gave him away. Even if I didn't have the footage of him at Riverside, I could tell he was lying. People became thirsty when they're lying.

"Can you prove otherwise, Lieutenant?" he challenged, all traces of hospitality gone.

"I have a witness that can prove that you were at Riverside Railway Station yesterday morning, Mr. Kelly. I strongly advise you to stop playing games with us and just tell us the truth."

"Fine, I wasn't home yesterday morning," he admitted. "I _was_ at Riverside."

"And doing what, Mr. Kelly?" Williams questioned.

"To see a friend off."

"Can you _please_ stop lying, Mr. Kelly?" I said, irritated. "I have video footage that you went to Riverside alone, and left the place by yourself as well." I walked up to him and hauled him up onto his feet. "Get up."

"What are you-"

I whipped out my handcuffs and slipped them on his hands. "I'm bringing you in, Kelly," I announced. "We've given you a second chance to come clean with us, but you didn't take it. So now, my partner and I are going to have to drag you in to the station, right in front of the eyes of _all_ your employees."

The executive tried to protest. "This is unacceptable! You can't just-"

"Oh yes we can, Mr. Kelly," I said. "You have the right to remain silent, but anything and everything you say right now may and will be used against you in court."

I nudged Kelly not-so-gently towards the door. "Come on, boss man, let's do a little catwalk."

* * *

**October 14 2013, Friday. 11.36 am.**

**Boston Police Department.**

I approached Williams as she came out of the interrogation room. She shook her head dejectedly. "He's not budging, and his vocabulary doesn't really go beyond the word 'lawyer'."

"Maybe I should give him a try," I suggested. But before I could do anything, I heard someone clear his throat behind me. I turned to find Connor Payne staring at Williams and I. "Captain Payne," I acknowledged plainly. I was seriously not interested in talking with another man in a suit again.

"Lieutenant Grant, Agent Williams," he greeted. "I hope you two know what you're doing. Matthew Kelly's got clout, and it wouldn't do any good to both of your resumes if you get on his bad side."

"Of course, sir," Williams said. "We'll tread very carefully."

"You'd better," was all the Captain said before leaving us to our own devices again.

"You know, Lieutenant, you really should learn how to be a little more diplomatic," Williams chided. "Thank God Kelly's got something to hide, or else he definitely would've lodged a complaint about us."

"Well, Williams, there's a very good reason why I'm not working at the HR department of some company, you know?"

She shook her head, clearly deciding that there was no hope in convincing me of the importance of tact. "I don't think he's the killer," she said. "Kevin Jones clearly stated that the man Malcolm Burton left with was slim and short. Matthew Kelly can pass off as an MMA contestant."

"I think so too, but he's obviously hiding something. I guess there's really nothing we can do except to get him to spill everything."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Merry Christmas, everybody! Sorry about the delay (I was busy working on Vortex and Apotheosis). I hope you guys aren't on the jolly old man's naughty list. :P **

* * *

**October 14 2013, Friday. 11.49 am.**

**Boston Police Department.**

"Oh come on, Mr. Kelly. Why don't you just stop playing games with us, and tell the truth," I said. He stayed silent. "This is more than just your reputation at stake right now, Kelly. You're suspected to be the Origami Killer. So unless you're planning on confessing and sending yourself to life imprisonment, you better come clean with us."

"_What?!_ " he asked, flustered. "The Origami Killer? I'm not him!"

"But evidence tells us otherwise, Kelly. Someone saw both you and your car at Riverside Railway Station just almost two hours before young Charles Edwards' body was found, mud covering his face and an orchid in his hands."

"I'm not the Origami Killer, I swear!" he pleaded.

"The witness also said that he saw you arrive at the station alone, with a turquoise duffel bag in your hands. Then you left alone as well," I said, tone slightly accusing. "Own up, Kelly. You stuffed little Charles' body into that bag, went to the station to dump it, did your little orchid ritual, and left, thinking nobody saw you. But now you're caught, Kelly. There's nowhere left to run, no way out."

He slammed his hands against the table repeatedly. "God damn it, no no no no no! I didn't kill him! I didn't kill anyone!"

"There's no use just saying you're not the guy we're looking for, Kelly. You have to prove it."

"Alright, alright, I'll confess!" he said, agitated. "Look, I've always liked trying new things, alright? About two months ago, I joined this BDSM club. We would... we would hook up among ourselves, find a nice place and do our thing, you know? Yesterday... yesterday was another one of those hook ups. As simple as that, I swear," he explained.

"What about the bag?" I questioned.

Kelly's face turned bright red. "I keep all of my, um, _tools,_ inside it."

"Half an hour seems pretty quick for a hook up, Kelly."

"My partner didn't come, alright?" he said defensively. "She said something about her son being sick-"

"_Wait, she's married?! _" By then I was truly, utterly disgusted.

The businessman's face took on an even brighter shade of red that I thought didn't exist. I so desperately wanted to give him a good solid whack on the head with the butt of my pistol, except then I realised that the Glock wasn't with me - guns weren't allowed during interrogations.

I almost resorted to using my fists, but the door opened before I could do anything stupid that would've cost him a nose, and myself a charge for assault and battery.

_Lucky bastard, _I thought.

The door opened. His lawyer had arrived. But not just any lawyer.

"_Stacey?_ " I said in disbelief. "_You're his lawyer? _"

Today just kept getting better and better.

I was treated to one of her signature _'what do you think? '_ smug looks. "Lieutenant Grant, I'm here to post bail for my client. I trust that he has been treated decently?"

"Of course, Miss Weston, naturally." I gave her one my best outwardly friendly but inwardly I-want-to-kill-you smiles. "Oh and uh, you might want to tell your client to keep a lid on his libido," I said, a little too innocently, before leaving the room.

I instructed Bruno to go take care of the formalities with Kelly, and went straight back to my desk.

"So fast?" Charles asked.

"Let's just say that I'm not very interested in wasting my time discussing sexual needs and fetishes with a scumbag while a young boy's on the verge of drowning in some God-forsaken place.

"Ooh, someone sounds touchy..." It was Williams, naturally. The FBI agent seemed to get a kick whenever I hit a dead end. "How'd it go in there?" she asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Peachy."

"No, I meant the meeting with your ex-wife."

My jaw dropped. "How did you- _oh._" I glared at Charles. "Why do you have to tell her everything?"

"She asked, so I answered!"

Williams laughed. "Oh please, Lieutenant, even if Detective Benson didn't tell me, I could've pulled your file anyway."

"Is that supposed to make me feel thankful? Because I am _not._"

Charles ever so conveniently went to get a cup of coffee, leaving Williams and I alone. I scooted my chair closer to her.

"Can I ask you something, Williams?"

"Sure."

"Do you have OCD? Or do you just love to stalk people? I can recommend a very good psychologist to you if you like," I said, _very friendly_ and helpful smile plastered on my face.

She smiled back innocently, and stomped on left foot with such force I almost felt my bones break up into powder. I slammed my hands on the desk. It was all I could to not yelp out loud in pain. "Oh gee, I don't know, Lieutenant. But I am very violent, you know."

_You don't say, _I wanted to scream in her face, but it sounded more like a moose having an asthma attack.

"Come on now, Lieutenant. We have some neighbours that need interviewing." That damn smile still stuck on her face, Williams stood up. "And I'm thinking you're in no position to drive, so _keys_ _please! _" she demanded gleefully.

Reluctantly, I handed the car keys over to her.

"Thanks, Lieutenant. Now hurry along!" She began to walk very briskly towards the lift.

"Sadistic woman..." I muttered under my breath, making my way very slowly towards her. I swore she was enjoying every single minute of my misery.

"I heard that!"

"Oh shut up!"


	7. Chapter 7

**October 14 2012, Friday. 1.03 pm.**

**21st Mason Street.**

I knocked on the door once more. There was still no answer. Sighing, I went down the steps and rejoined the FBI agent on the pavement.

"Great, just great. So much for 'interviewing neighbours' huh, Williams?" We'd already knocked on ten households, but only three answered.

"Oh come on, Lieutenant. There are another ten more houses down the street. I'm sure we'll find someone with the answers we need."

"Williams, I'm telling you, this is an utter waste of time."

But we continued on anyway. After six houses down the row, one door finally opened. Standing behind it was a grey-haired woman. She was in her fifties. Her frame was petite - around five-feet-three, and she couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds. She was bald, and her eyes were dull, listless, void of energy. Only one word could describe her - _frail. _

"How may I help you?" she asked, a little apprehensively.

"I'm Lieutenant Clayton Grant, and this is Agent Kimberly Williams with the FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions about Malcolm Burton."

"Please come in," she said. "It's freezing outside." As we entered the house, I was shocked by the amount the clutter around in the living room. Bottles of pills were scattered around, piles of clothes lying all about. The place was a total shipwreck. It must've shown on my face, because she said, "I'm so sorry about the mess. I used to tidy up the place till it shone, but things haven't been the same ever since I was diagnosed with cancer."

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Williams said.

"Oh, don't be. It's just part and parcel of life. "

"How can we address you, ma'am?" I asked.

"Dawn, Margaret Dawn. Would you care for some tea?"

We declined politely.

"I insist," she said with a kindly smile. Williams offered to help her in the kitchen, so I took the opportunity to check around the house. The first thing I went to was the family portrait. It was probably taken before her health failed. She looked much younger, radiant skin, wavy locks of raven hair. Also in the picture were two brown-haired youngsters, a guy and a girl. Then another thing caught my eye - two pairs of boots, simply discarded on the floor near the door. They were caked in mud - and were of size 8.

Interesting.

As soon as I returned to my seat, so did the two women. I waited for them to be seated before I started the questioning.

"Mrs. Dawn, what can you tell me about the Burtons?"

Her lips curled into a smile. "Oh, what a wonderful family, they were! I used to bake cookies for their family every Thanksgiving."

"You guys were close?"

"Yes, of course. I was there when Claire gave birth to baby Malcolm. It's so hard to believe that was ten years ago."

After a couple of more routine questions, I decided to ask something different.

"So, Mrs. James, do you have any family members?"

"Yes, my two children, Alastair and Alice. They're twins, and they live with together with me."

"What about their father?" Williams asked.

"I split up with their father while I was pregnant with the both of them. We had issues. We were both so young and ignorant. Our relationship was very volatile."

"Does he visit often?"

"No... He didn't know I was pregnant, and the last time we saw each other was when we broke up. That was almost twenty years ago."

"What jobs do your children have, Mrs. Dawn?" I asked.

"Alastair is a law clerk, Alice is a saleswoman."

The door suddenly opened before I could ask another question, and entered Alastair Dawn. At first glance, I already knew he was her son. The green eyes, abet much more energetic than his mother's. He was around six feet tall, probably from his father. The brown hair, too.

Big Al obviously disliked us from the very start. "Who the Hell are you?" he questioned rather fiercely.

"Oh, darling," the senior Dawn said. "They're the police. They just wished to ask me about poor little Malcolm."

"Go away! What, you think my mother did it?" he said. His whole being was just _oozing_ with hostility.

"It's just routine buddy, nothing personal," I said.

"Oh, Alastair-" The old lady suddenly just _dropped_ - but thankfully against her son.

"Listen you two, I'm going upstairs to bring my mother to bed. When I come back down, I want the two of you out of my sight, you got me?"

"Whatever, we're done here anyway."

The man glared at us once more, before carrying his mother upstairs.

"Gee," Williams said dryly. "What's with that guy?"

"Come on, we better leave before King Kong comes back and goes all Alpha-male again."

A sudden thought hit me just as we were exiting the house. I swiftly bent down, took out a piece of tissue paper and wiped a bit of mud off a boot.

"What were you doing?" Williams asked after we were out back on the street. We began walking back to the car.

"Take this for analysis," I said, passing the piece of tissue paper over to her.

"What for?"

"I want to know if he's been to Riverside."

"You think he's our killer?"

We entered the car.

"That's what we're supposed to find out, Williams."

"Do you want him to be the Killer?"

I started the engine.

"What sort of question is that?"

"I just want to know what you think, Lieutenant. What's so wrong with that?"

"You're an FBI profiler, Williams. You're supposed to psyche paedophiles and serial killers, not cops."

"You're very grumpy, you know that?"

"I'm only grumpy when you're around."

"That's a lie. You love me, you think that I'm the best partner a cop can ever have."

"You have issues, you know that? Like _major issues_. You should check for brain damage."

"How about this: I can be the kettle, and you can be the pot."

I decided to ignore her. My phone rang after a few minutes of blissful driving in silence.

"Hey, Charles, what's up?"

"I got word from our colleagues over at Vice. They've just arrested Andrei Burton."

* * *

**A/N: So before the clock strikes twelve and we enter 2013 (at least over here anyway), I'd just like to say a big thank you to all you readers for making 2012 such a blast for me (especially Armageddon Coconut - thank you, Louis!). Anyway, I hope you guys have a wonderful new year!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: How's 2013 treating y'all so far? And I must say, it seems that everyone prefers Williams over Clayton. Guess you guys like the chirpy one, eh?**

* * *

**October 14 2013, Friday. 2.48 pm.**

**Boston Police Department.**

"What the _Hell_ is wrong with you, Burton? I've told you very clearly to bring us whatever mail you receive. _But why didn't you? _"

"I- I'm sorry! I just... I just panicked..." He said, flustered, handcuffs restricting the movements of his shackled hands. They rattled nonstop. "But you have to help me, sir, you have to get me out of here! Malcolm could die any minute! I need to save my son!"

"You should've thought about this before you got arrested with over 500 grams of heroin on you, Andrei," I said, sighing. "Where did you stash the rest of the Origami figures?"

"I rented a room at the motel around Johnson Avenue. They're in a shoebox in the closet," he said dryly.

"I'll go talk to a few people, see what I can do. Meanwhile, you stay here and do some thinking, Andrei."

The man raised his hands again, the handcuffs rattling once more. "I'm not going anywhere."

I left the interrogation room and headed to Charles' desk, where he and Williams were seated.

"How'd it go?" Charles asked.

"Burton's stashed the instructions at the motel near Johnson Avenue. Charles, I need you to go get them for me."

"Sure thing," he said, immediately taking his keys and rushing off.

Williams arched an eyebrow. "And what are _we_ going to do?"

"_We_ are going to have a little chat with Payne, get him to release Burton."

She smiled, amused. We started walking towards the captain's office. "You're going to need a lot of convincing and diplomacy, Lieutenant. No offense, but I don't really think that's up your alley."

"And why do you think I let you stick around, Williams?" I said, smirking.

"Ah... Well played, Lieutenant."

We were now just outside of Payne's office.

"Work your magic, Madam Diplomat."

* * *

The conversation so far turned out to be less than pleasant.

"Andrei Burton made a mistake, he broke the law and became a criminal. Criminals belong in jail. Period."

"He committed the act under duress, _sir,_" Williams said.. "He was trying to save his son."

"_With all due respect_, Captain, Andrei Burton was set up and you know it!" I declared angrily. I was running out of patience. "The killer sent those drugs to Burton, told him to strap them on and go to Jefferson Alley, then tipped off Vice that a drug deal was going on at Burton's location."

His tone turned low. "What are you trying to say, Lieutenant? That I'm actually helping the Origami Killer?"

"No, I'm saying that you're punishing a father for trying to save his son!"

"_Lieutenant,_" Williams warned. "I apologise for Lieutenant Grant, Captain Payne. We have all been a little stressed out trying to close the case. However... it would be disastrous should the media know of your decision to stop Andrei Burton from saving his son..."

"_Is that a threat, Agent Williams?_ " he hissed.

"Of course not, Captain, I will never do that," she said in a perfectly innocent tone. I couldn't help but smile a little. "But it is quite obvious that the killer wants Burton to prove his love for his son through his arrest."

"Explain."

"Simple, the plan was to have Burton arrested. If Burton truly loved his son, he would resist arrest or possibly even find a way to escape custody. If he fails, Malcolm dies. Now imagine the uproar that would happen should this information get leaked out to the public, Captain..." she said suggestively.

"Then what do you suggest, Williams?" the captain asked, through gritted teeth.

"Broadcast Burton's arrest. Make it high profile, as big as it can get. We wait for a couple of hours, then announce that he's escaped the station."

"Meanwhile, we'll use that time to go through all the killer's clues and work out of a plan with Burton," I added.

He glared at me. I smiled.

_Scumbag._

After a few minutes of pregnant silence, he said, "I'll do what I have to, and you two do yours. But I'm warning you, Lieutenant, you tread a thin line. Any slip-ups and you're turning in your gun and badge. Am I clear?"

"Crystal."

"Now excuse yourselves, I have duties to fulfill."

Williams and I existed the room without a word.

She heaved a sigh of relief as we worked our way towards the interrogation room. "You nearly got us killed in there, Lieutenant."

"Hey, what'd you expect?" I said a little defensively. "I wasn't going just run around in circles with some pencil-pusher while a kid was drowning in rainwater."

"Can we please _not_ use the past tense? Malcolm Burton is still alive."

"Fine. But I'm telling you Williams, Payne's got so much red tape up his ass, he's forgotten what a cop should do."

She thought for awhile. "I don't know if I would've done it differently..."

I stopped in my tracks. "Are you seriously saying that?"

"He's not just an ordinary cop anymore, you have to understand that," she explained. "Your job is to catch crooks. His job is to keep the media's attention on him so that you guys can perform your tasks more efficiently."

We'd reached the room, but stopped short at the door.

"Gee. Remind me to buy him flowers later," I said, resuming our journey to the interrogation room.

"You really should try to be nice, Lieutenant."

"Says that person that threatened the Captain just now." She punched me in the arm. "But still... nice work in there, Williams. Couldn't have done it without you."

"Thanks, Lieutenant," she said, mildly surprised. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me so far."

"I didn't mean it."

"Oh, you did, Lieutenant, yes you did."

"You'd wish.''

We laughed. I opened the door. My smile vanished, but for another reason as I took in the view of the room. I stood rooted at the doorway.

"Shit."

"What?"

"Burton's gone."

* * *

**A/N: Uh oh, where did Andy go? :P**


End file.
